Nico di Angelo and the Mortals
by TheAravis
Summary: Discontinued.
1. I am a Victim

_Hola._ Welcome to my story.

Enjoy!

Also, I'm not Spanish.

* * *

I don't want to be here. I _never_ wanted to be here. But I'm here. Because of that _stupid_ Persephone. Because _of course_ I _need_ to make friends (apparently they have to be my age), get an education, and _do something_ with my life.

School was never my favorite part of the day. Even back at Westover Hall. I mean, it was boring. You know, not fun. And all that learning? It's not like it'll help us in life if I know the process of photosynthesis (which has nothing to do with cameras, by the way). I can make a living without it; McDonalds is never short of workers.

No, I'm not kidding.

You would think Persephone would think that it was okay if I grew up to be a hobo. She doesn't like me, in case you didn't know. So I'm guessing she wants me out of her way _now, _because that's the only reason I'd be here. Unless she actually cares about me.

Yeah, right.

Father has a part to play in this, too. He decided he wanted a son with a respectable career.

Basically, he's saying he doesn't want me to be a politician. Or flip burgers. Which sucks, because I'm sure McDonalds would take me. Or at _least _Burger King. I mean, come on.

I sigh. The teacher walks in. Hello. He introduces himself, then goes along with the standard speech while I zone out. "Hey, new kid, get up," I hear then turn around. A freckly boy whispers, "Get up!" and pokes me with the sharp edge of a pencil. "He said if you're new, you have to stand and introduce yourself." Introduce myself? Great. Just what I wanted: Attention. "Get up!"

I awkwardly stand. Mr. Teacher goes down the kids in the first row, second row until he's up to me: Third row. "My name is Nico di Angelo. I enjoy..." What do I say? What _do_ I enjoy? "...making... umm... friends." Yeah, right. Kind of lame.

"Thank you, Nico," Mr. Teacher says. I nod and sit down. Is this what the rest of the year's going to be like?

* * *

I eat my brown-bagged lunch and watch a trio of kids goes around. Big, "strong" kids. I bet I could cream them with my eyes closed. They start coming toward me. Hurrah; I jinxed it. "Hey, goth boy, give us your lunch money," the leader, a blond-haired, brown-eyed boy says.

Is it just me or was that the most cliched bully line in the world?

Okay, I'm not giving them my money, that's for sure. "I don't have any money," I bluff. Fall for it, fall for it, fall for it.

The leader seems to have fallen for it, but a brown-haired boy on the right of him says, "I saw him take out his wallet." Thanks for that.

"It's empty. I spent my money on... umm... milk," I lie. They'll fall for it, right? No one could have been looking _that_ closely.

"Let's make him give us his wallet," the left kid proposes.

"Yeah," the leader agrees, then he turns to me. "Give us your wallet. For, um, proof." What am I supposed to do now, beat them up? I _can_ beat them up, but Father promised me ten years in the Lotus Casino if I got into any kind of trouble.

Is no one going to look my way? I search. A redheaded girl is coming toward yours truly, as if she heard me. In my thoughts. Which is not possible. The girl comes up. "Oh, _hi_, Simon. What are you doing?" She obviously knows what he's doing. Taking lunch money. "Are you seriously beating up this poor, scrawny little boy with a taste for black? You know what's going to happen if you get caught again, right? Continue this and you'll have no career. Do you want to be flipping burgers for the rest of your life?" Yes. Oh, was that question not directed towards me? Oops.

The girl takes them aside and they talk for a moment. Well, not _talk_. _Argue_.

Apparently that girl should be a debater, because after five minutes, the trio's heading back to a lunch table. I suppose I should thank her regardless of the biting insults. I go up to her, but she ignores my existence after they walk away.

So much for thank-yous.

* * *

I look through my bag the fiftieth time, and my wallet still isn't there.

I'm pretty sure it's safe to assume that the Evil Bully Trio took it. But did I really have anything important in there? Hmm...

Yes.

My home number was written down in permanent marker next my name, so it'll come my way, I guess. If it wasn't stolen.

I decide to go back to the apartment. It _will_ come my way.

I get up and pick up my backpack from the bench in front of the school. "Hey, emo!" I turn around instinctively. Great, now I'm answering to "emo". The girl who called me (Yes, she called _me_. There weren't any other emos around.) was coincidentally the same girl who "saved" me from the Evil Bully Trio. She walks up to me. "Nico di Angelo, right?" I nod. "This is yours?" she asks, holding out my wallet. I nod and take it.

"Thanks," I say. So now I'm indebted to her? Wait, not until I check what's in there. I open my wallet, which has mostly everything except...

"What, you don't trust me?" she asks. She sighs like I'm incredibly foolish.

"This is missing a dollar," I say. "I am missing a dollar."

"I didn't take it. Maybe it fell out," she reasons. There are no pauses, so either she rehearsed this or she's innocent. Guess who's betting on the former.

"Likely story." I shove my wallet in my pocket and hold my hand out. "Give it back."

"I didn't take it." She sees I don't believe her and adds, "It's only a dollar. Relax. There's more money in tip jars at the deli."

"If it's 'only a dollar', why don't you give it back?" I ask accusingly.

"Because I don't have it! Are you that slow?" she asks, exasperated. "If you're going to throw a fit, here!" She reaches into her pocket and takes out four quarters. "I didn't take it, but keep it anyway. You're so difficult!" She begins to walk away.

"I"m not difficult! I just don't like it when people take my money!" I yell to her back, dropping the quarters in my pocket. I'm never one to refuse cash.

Watching her walk away, I think about it. Well, maybe she didn't take it. Maybe she's telling the truth. After all, if she took it, she wouldn't have given me the quarters. So, now what? I apologize? Well, I'm going to need a friend if I want to survive the school year. I run to catch up with her. "Wait!" I yell. When I reach her, I say, "Look, I'm sorry. Maybe I should believe you."

"There is no 'maybe'," she replies stubbornly, stuffing her hands in her pockets and walking as fast as she can.

"Okay, I believe you. I swear." I hold my hands out, showing my fingers aren't crossed. Goodbye, pride. I'll miss you dearly.

"Fine. It's okay. Go home now," she says.

"My house is this way," I lie desperately. "So... What's your name?"

"Andrea. Andrea Collins," she replies, speeding up.

I speed up, too. "My name is Nico di Angelo," I say, holding out my hand.

Andrea doesn't take it. "I know," she replies.

"Andrea, look," I say.

"You said that already," she says.

"What?" I ask. What is she talking about?

"When you came up to me, you said 'Look'," she answers.

Why does that matter? "Andrea, just relax. Please?" I fish out the quarters from my pockets. "Here, take this back. Let's just be friends now, okay?"

Silence... Silence... Dot, dot, dot... Finally, Andrea opens her mouth. "'Let's just be friends now?' What are you, six?" I don't reply. After _another _silence, she says, "Fine. So, your name's Nico di Angelo?"

Way to open up. I put the quarters back in my pocket. "Yeah. Since birth." Why did I add that last part?

Andrea laughs, but the laugh is obviously forced. And it sounds like it's supposed to sound obviously forced. "You know, back in fourth grade, I knew a kid with that name. Maybe it's common."

"Common? I don't know. You went to this school in fourth grade?" I ask. I could know her. Actually, she's starting to look a little familiar. Andrea Collins. I think I know that name.

"No, I went to Westover Hall." I stop walking. Oh, gods! She's _Andrea Collins_! The girl that caused all my fourth grade misery! "You're that bully!" I accuse.

"Oh. My. God. You're _that_ Nico di Angelo? Happy-go-lucky Mythomagic geek?" she asks, turning around. "No way."

"Mythomagic was - _is_ a very respectable game," I say. I don't really think so, but...

"Okay. You changed." I don't think_ she_ changed all that much. She's still an argument master, which was a skill she used to crush everyone's dreams. "You really let yourself go," she comments.

"So..." We resume walking. I go a little faster than her, but not purposely.

"Nico, your backpack's open." She comes up to me and grabs my bag, nearly knocking me over. She thumbs through my stuff. "Hey... what's... You brought a sword to school?" She pulls out my Stygian iron sword. "Why? Are you planning to kill someone?" she asks. Way to jump to conclusions. "First day, one person, next day, a massacre?"

"Wait. Andrea..." I realize it'll be hard to argue with her, so I decide to manipulate the Mist. I snap (kind of pitifully). "You don't see a sword. You see a..." What does my sword look like to mortals, anyway? "...a hairclip."

Oh, gods, maybe that was the wrong thing to say.

"Nico, here's your hairclip," she says, not realizing how wrong what she's saying is. I reach for it, but she swipes it away. "What do you think I am, an idiot? This _obviously_ isn't a hairclip. I'm telling the police."

* * *

So? How was it?

Well, this was my third rewrite, so please tell me it's _at least_ decent.

Okay, bye now.


	2. Still Not Believing You

Second chapter finally up!

I tried to fix the choppiness, so tell me if it's still there.

Um... See you later?

* * *

"Wait. Andrea. Relax," I tell her, putting my hands on her shoulders. "That's a sword, yeah. But if I really wanted to kill you, wouldn't I have done something about it by now?"

Andrea pushes my hands off her shoulders. "Get off me. Now, I'm going to the police. Good-bye, _Nico di Angelo_." She puts emphasis on my name. I don't know why. Maybe because she wants me to know that she knows my identity and I can be tracked down. Or something.

She begins to walk away, exceedingly quickly. "Wait, Andrea!" I yell. Andrea doesn't turn around or stop walking. Basically, she ignores me. "Listen!" I run to catch up with her. "If you take that to the police, they'll haul you off to a mental institution."

Andrea scoffs, then speeds up. "_Of course_ I should trust you," she says sarcastically.

"Listen, remember me in fourth grade? You don't think that innocent little boy would turn into a serial killer, do you?" I ask, a little pitifully.

"I didn't think that 'innocent little boy' would become an _emo_," Andrea retorts, then speeds up. Again. "Now, go away. You're not changing my mind."

Andrea really acts weird around people she believes to be serial killers. Instead of screaming for mercy, or screaming, at all, period, she just talks calmly. Maybe it's just because it's me, a thirteen year-old boy. "Listen. Just give me five minutes. If I'm not going to change your mind, it won't matter, right?" I ask. It's worth a try.

"Maybe. Maybe not." She pauses, thinking it over. "Okay, five minutes. But five minutes and five minutes only," she informs me.

I mentally pump my fist and yell, "Yes!" Mentally. Because if Andrea saw me doing that, she'd think I was trying to punch and kill her. Well, kill her and the rest of the world. By punching. "Okay, give me my sword," I tell her.

"I'm not an idiot." She tightens her grasp on my sword. Her fingers pale a little because she's squeezing it so hard.

Maybe telling her to do that was kind of stupid. "Fine. Just... Try to hurt yourself. Like a small prick on the finger."

Andrea makes a disgusted face. "Who do you think I am?"

"Just trust me," I tell her. Our eyes meet.

"No. I don't trust you. You didn't trust me, I don't trust you." She checks her watch. "Five minutes are over." She begins to walk away.

Before she can leave, I catch a glance at her watch. On the stopwatch, it reads, "2:58". "It's been two minutes and fifty-eight seconds," I say. "Just prick yourself. It's a small cut."

Andrea stops. "Fine." She makes the movement to prick herself, but instead of hurting her, it goes through her. Just like I knew it would. "Wait," she says disbelievingly. "Did you see that, too?"

"Yes," I say. "It's supposed to do that."

"Wait..." She trails off. Then she backs away and points at me. "Witch! You're a witch!"

I'm... a witch. Let's just ignore the fact that I'm male. I'm a witch, of course. That's the first thing you're supposed to assume when a sword goes through you. The (supposedly) emo boy is a witch. "I'm not a witch. Witches don't exist."

"That's what a witch would say," Andrea says, looking sure of herself, then continues walking.

"Listen, do you know who the Greek gods are?" I inquire.

"Why are you changing the subject?" she questions me suspiciously. She's really bent on thinking I'm a witch, I guess.

"Okay, fine. I'm a witch. You caught me." I stop walking and pick a twig and point it at her. She turns around, her back to me, and stops walking. "Hocus pocus!" I say without enthusiasm.

"It's abracadabra, idiot," she mutters, then continues loudly, "If you aren't a witch, what are you?" she asks with a confident smirk. She sits down on the rather conveniently placed park bench. What, is she tired or something?

I take a seat. "Do you know who the Greek gods are?" I inquire. Again.

"Again with the gods! What do they have to do with anything?" Everything.

"Answer the question," I command. She's really annoying, isn't she? You know what? Maybe I can survive the last year of middle school on my own. No one's better than her.

"Yes. I know the gods. Zeus, Hera... Greek people," she answers.

"Greek _gods_," I correct. After a pause (and a look from Andrea that said, "Why did that matter?"), I continue, "Well, they're real. As in not fake," I tell her. "Not fake at all."

Andrea reaches into her pocket with her free hand. "Mhmm..." she says, obviously not believing me. She takes some kind of lip thing out of her pocket and applies it. "So, what does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, the gods had magic, right?" Andrea nods. "So that's a magical sword." She stifles a laugh but doesn't say anything. "And it doesn't hurt you because you're not important enough for it to hurt."

"I don't believe you," she tells me. _Obviously._

"You were so eager to believe I was a witch!" I complain, throwing my hands up. I run my hands through my dark hair.

"Well, _excuse me_ if I think it's more probable for witches to exist than Greek gods!" she argues.

"How so?" I can't think of any reason that would support her beliefs.

"Well... witches are..." She trails off. "Witches are... witches are..." Thinking that she's defeated, I open my mouth, but Andrea cuts off my unsaid argument. "Cooler! Witches are cooler!"

Instead of saying something that I normally would say, like "That's ridiculous," I say, "You suck," impulsively. Then I realize what I said. "I mean... That doesn't make sense."

"I don't care what _you _think._ You're_ probably deranged!" she very gently comments. I ignore it.

"Okay, look. The Greek gods are real. And like I was saying, it doesn't hurt you because you're not important enough for it to hurt," I tell her. Maybe I could get through this without revealing about the demigods. Wait. She can see through the Mist, can't she? "Haven't you seen strange things before? Monsters, maybe?"

Andrea hesitates. "Well... Yes. But I always thought that was the work of... well-"

"Witches," I interrupt. "So look, witches aren't real. Greek gods are. So... give me an example of something you've lately."

"An emo kid with a sword," she says.

I sigh. "Other than that!" I say exasperatedly.

"Well, I've been seeing a lot lately... There's this horse I saw, with wings, flying, when I was cloud-watching from a park bench a few years ago."

"A few years ago? You haven't seen anything _recently_?"

Andrea glares at me. "Well, there's this horse I saw, with wings, flying, when I was cloud-watching from a park bench a few years ago," she repeats, slowly.

If it was recently or not, it doesn't matter. "That's a Pegasus, you know, flying horse..."

"Wouldn't you think I would know that it's a flying horse if I saw the _horse_ _flying_?" she asks rhetorically.

"So you believe me?" I ask, hopeful.

"I guess... Maybe..." Apparently Andrea didn't register how offhand my statement was. "But the sword doesn't hurt me, so I'll just- Hey. How do I know it just doesn't hurt _me_?"

I sigh again. "How would I do that? I forgot all about you until now."

"Well..." She thinks. "Fine. I won't turn you in. But just let me check..." She goes over to the nearest passerby. "Mister!" He stops walking and looks at her. "What am I holding?"

"That's a ruler," he says briefly, then leaves.

"I told you!" I say - okay, yell - triumphantly.

With a _hmph_, she says, "Fine. But still... Why do you have a magic sword?"

Oh, I thought it was over... "See, the gods, they're... Well... Adulterers... They have children with mortals..."

Andrea looks at me skeptically. "And you're one of them?" she asks.

"To be blunt, yes."

"Well, that's nice. I'm going home," she tells me. Something about her says she doesn't feel like talking to me. "Bye."

"Bye," I reply, and begin to go to my house. I hope I'll never have to talk to that girl again.

* * *

Okay, exactly _a few minutes_ have spanned from the first A/N to this one, which is because I do the A/N's last, usually.

I think this chapter seemed fillery. Well, not _really_ fillery, but only one thing was really established. It was because in my old story someone said Andrea accepted the Greek god thing too easily...

Since I know you don't care, laters!


	3. Social Monarchy

New chapter!

Please note: In the chapter, there will be a comment of how Andrea keeps grudges. This does not mean she is a child of Hades because that would make no sense and mess up the story completely.

Nico's such a hypocrite. =D

Have fun!

* * *

I get up and throw away the foil from my ham sandwich, then make my way back to my empty table. Funny, it seems like every table except for mine is full.

Maybe I should make friends...

Just kidding. The people here are idiots. Look, there's Evil Bully Trio attempting to take I-Sit-Alone Friendless Kid's lunch money, which is pretty dumb, if you ask me. Seriously. He has lunch.

Andrea gets up, looking at them. Her friend says something to her, then tugs on her sleeve, as if to say _Don't_, but then Andrea says something and she lets go. She tells off the Evil Bully Trio, then they take a seat, and she takes a seat.

The end.

As usual.

* * *

Class is boring, lunch is boring, study hall is boring, school is boring.

Oh, and chores are boring, too. The least-boring thing I do in my day is probably going to the park. Well, not really. When I go to the park, I do my homework, which, yes, is boring, but waving to the little kids is not boring.

And before you ask why I, Nico di Angelo, son of the god of the Underworld, like waving to small children, it is because it reminds me of a better time...

Anyway, I'm at the park, sitting on a bench behind a table, one of those small stone ones with checkerboard designs on them (Just in case you want to play checkers and don't feel like bringing a board.). I'm waving to a little brown-haired girl who takes one glance at me and starts running.

Oh gods, I can't be that scary. So what if I'm dressed in all black? So what if I emanate death?

"Did you ever think that maybe - just maybe - you look a little... disturbed?"_ Andrea?_ is my instinctive thought. After all, she's the only one who ever actually talked to me since the Underworld. (You know, other than my "aunt". And teachers.)

But no, it's not Andrea. Instead, it's a male voice, "coincidentally" I-Sit-Alone Friendless Kid. Then my processes what he just said. He said I looked disturbed, as in crazy. Oh, that's why the mothers were giving me weird looks. It explains a lot. "I do?" I ask in a attempt to be friendly.

Why I attempt to be friendly is obvious: As I've said before, I'm going to need a friend if I want to survive the school year. And one that isn't an obnoxious redhead is definitely better than one that is.

"Yeah. You scared off my little sister." He points to the little brown-haired girl. "My name's Jerry." He holds out his hand and I shake it.

"Nico."

"So, what're you doing?" he asks.

I shove my homework in my schoolbag and reply, "Nothing." Homework is meant for doing at home, not the park. I can't let this slim chance at friendship slip from my grasp.

He laughs but doesn't bring it up. "So..." He drifts off. Then he uses the fail-free-somewhat-awkward-resort-that-no-one-will-really-say-no-to: "Wanna get some pizza?"

True, it's random and out of nowhere, but that's when you're supposed to use it. "Sure."

"You know, Nico, for an emo, you're wonderfully not that emo."

* * *

So what happens is that I-Sit-Alone Friendless Kid, whose name is Jerry, is actually a decent guy. Not pretty decent, not somewhat decent, but _decent_. Which is why I start sitting with him at lunchtime instead of sitting alone, so now he's I-Sit-With-An-Emo Better-Off-Friendless Kid. "Hey, you know that girl over there?" Jerry asks, subtly gesturing to Andrea's friend.

She's black-haired and so intensely beautiful it's almost disgusting. Well, not _almost_. She's the kind of girl that _could_ be popular, but hangs around with people like Andrea, which makes some people (me) wonder. Basically, she's girly.

And I've never actually focused on Cynthia before. But now that I am, I realize there's something about her that screams "half-blood".

I'll have to talk to Andrea after school.

"No," I reply. "Why?"

"Well, you look in her direction sometimes, so I thought you did," he explains.

What? "No, I don't." He rolls his eyes. "Seriously, I don't even know her name!"

"Cynthia Evans. She's somewhat popular, but hangs around socially lesser people."

"Why do you know that?" I ask.

"You don't think I was just staring into space when I sat alone, did you?" He smirks.

"So, who are the 'socially lesser' people?" I ask, to make conversation.

"That girl over there," he says, pointing subtly. Too subtly for me to understand who he's pointing to.

"Andrea?" I ask.

"You know Andrea?" he asks. "Andrea Collins?"

"Kind of."

"You know, she's kind of nice," he informs me. I start to say something, but then he interrupts me. "But she can hold grudges. You piss her off once, she's pissed at you forever."

"Yeah," I agree. "So anyway, is Andrea the 'socially lesser' person?"

"No, I was pointing to the brunette with the curly hair. I think Cynthia hangs out with her because she has potential to rise above her. _Untapped_ potential, you know."

"Jerry, do you just stare at girls during lunch?"

He coughs. "No. See that kid over there? Brown-haired? Andrew Robinson. He is the third most popular boy in school."

"Gods, you make it sound like some kind of social monarchy, Jerry," I tell him.

"That's because it is, my friend. It is."

* * *

"Hey, Nico. Come with me to the park?" Jerry asks. "I have to babysit my little sister, and you know how great you are with kids," he says sarcastically, but I think little Jenny started to like me. He laughs.

"I can't today, Jerry. Busy."

"Aw, come on, man, me and Jenny need someone to be the monster. What if I say please?"

Andrea walks outside with Cynthia. "Sorry, Jerry, I have to go."

He sees me looking at Andrea. "Andrea Collins? Good luck with that, buddy." He pats me on the back. Way to get the wrong idea. "See ya." He pats me on the back again, then walks off.

I walk over to Andrea. "Andrea, listen, we have to talk." Cynthia looks at Andrea with a look that says _Why is Wannabe Fake Emo Loser talking to you?_

"We're talking," she tells me. "Well, _you're _talking, at least."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Alone. In private."

Andrea looks at Cynthia and Cynthia reluctantly nods. "Okay."

After Cynthia leaves, I start talking. "So, Andrea, I-"

"Nico, I thought we discussed this!" she interrupts exasperatedly.

"What are you talking about? We never discussed anything!" I exclaim. It's true, after the day when we "discussed Greek mythology", we did not speak a word to each other. Well, other than the time when she dropped a piece of paper..

"Well... Umm..." She puts on a thoughtful expression. "I thought we came to a silent agreement!"

Now I know what she means. But, for my amusement, I pretend I don't. "And what was that?"

"We don't talk to each other and Monday never happened."

"Speaking of Monday... You know the discussion we had about Greek mythology that day?" I ask.

"You mean the one where I accused you of being an axe murderer?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"That's what didn't happen on Monday," she tells me.

I sigh. "Okay, Andrea, I didn't come here to talk about you, or me, or even Monday! Well, kind of about Monday, but that's not the point. We came here to talk about Cynthia."

"Cynthia Evans?" Andrea asks, raising her eyebrow.

"Yeah."

"Oh my _God_, Nico, she's way out of your league!" she exclaims. Then she turns whiny. "Why are you asking _me _help you? Oh, God! I can't help you! No one ca-"

"Andrea, you need to relax. I don't have crush on Cynthia. I know when girls are out of my league." Then I decide to be blunt. No more beating around the bush. "Cynthia... is a demigod."

I wait for the gasp, the "What?", the denial, _anything_, but Andrea keeps silent. Then after a considerable amount of time has passed, she opens her mouth and says, "I don't understand."

"What don't you understand? That was a four word sentence. 'Cynthia is a demigod'! Four words!" Okay, Nico. Stay calm. Just remember, some people aren't as smart as others. Yelling at her will do nothing.

"Demigod?" she asks.

"Didn't I ex-" Breathe in, breathe out. "A demigod is half human, half Greek god. One of Cynthia's parents is human, one is a god."

"So? Does that change anything, really? So what if one of her parents is immortal?"

"Monsters are going to come after her and kill her! Doesn't that matter to you?"

"Wouldn't she be dead by now, then? She's been alive for thirteen whole years!"

"She's _lucky_! But you can't stay lucky forever. No one can do that. And besides, what's the harm in knowing?" I ask. I, of course, _do_ know the harm in knowing. When she finds out, her scent will be stronger, so hello monsters.

"How do you think I should tell her? I can't go up to her and say, 'Oh, hey, Cynthia. You know how you're adopted? Well, one of your real parents is a Greek god!' She think I'm crazy! And I don't like the therapist!"

I sigh. "It's all right, just relax, I'll be with you." Something (everything) tells me that saying that was _not_ the right idea. In fact, I _knew _that saying it was the wrong idea, but some stupid part of me decided to say it anyway.

"How will you help me? You're just some little emo boy! Cynthia hates you! _I _somewhat hate you!"

Breathe in, breathe out. This is weird. I've seen weird things since forever, but _never_, in my whole life, have I ever had to deal with a redhead throwing a tantrum for no (good) reason. I've handled the situation terribly so far, and I can't think of what else to say, so I use the last resort (not the one involving pizza): throw a tantrum back.

And I'm not stupid. I know it won't work, but I am a thirteen year-old boy. A normal thirteen year-old boy wouldn't be expected to do the _responsible_ thing is this kind of situation. And who's to say I'm not normal? "Okay, Andrea, relax. Breathe in, breathe out. Look, I can help you. There's a reason I'm not in therapy or shut in a mental institution. Because I can help, okay? Stop panicking."

Yeah, I lied. I know I'm not normal, and I really don't want to go through another round. Andrea breathes deeply. "Fine, Nico. But today-"

"Never happened. Yeah, I know. So how do you think we should approach Cynthia?"

"I don't think it would work out if you went up alone," she tells me. "She would find some way to make you go away, and she wouldn't listen to anything you said."

That wasn't a good idea from the start. I didn't even consider it for a second. _She_ shouldn't have considered it for a second. "Yeah, let's go up to her together. Or you could go up alone and I could just pop out if you give me a signal or something."

Andrea sighs. "Nico, that was worst idea ever. Just let me do the planning. I know Cynthia. You don't." She thinks. "We're going together. That's the best, probably. You popping out of nowhere would freak her out, make you seem stalker-ish, you going up to her alone would make you seem stalker-ish, and if I went alone she wouldn't believe me. So it's decided."

"It's decided," I echo.

Andrea thinks for a second, then starts walking. "C'mon, Nico, Cynthia's waiting for me at McDonald's."

"Coming," I hear myself say.

* * *

In case you don't understand how Nico's a hypocrite, please look back at what he nicknamed Jerry.

Oh, and sorry about the late update. I was kind of writing another story. -hint, hint-

Okay, bye.


	4. I Totally Knew That

Okay, I finally updated. And just because I kept you nonexistent readers waiting, your reward is... Wait for it...

A ridiculously short chapter!

I know all you people out there are _so _happy... Enjoy it! XD

Thanks to Mending the Sky, my totally awesome beta of totally awesomeness. :)

* * *

We walk silently. There's no point in conversation. It's kind of awkward.

Andrea nearly trips over a water bottle some idiot left on the ground. I don't say anything, she doesn't say anything.

What else is new?

Finally, after what feels like forever, we reach McDonald's. Andrea walks in first, and Cynthia waves. I walk in, and then Cynthia stops waving and glares at Andrea. Whatever. Better her than me.

The McDonald's is tiled, like every other McDonald's in the world. It's shabby, but I've seen dirtier. Way dirtier.

The employees smile at us, then scowl when they realize we're going over to the table of the Girl who Bought Nothing.

Cynthia is sitting at a table next to a happy family with energetic kids who like to run around, which is kind of annoying. It's a welcome distraction from homework, but if I'm doing_ this_, it just doesn't help anyone at all.

"Hey, Cindy," Andrea says.

"Hey." Andrea sits down on the high spinning chair, and I sit next to her. "You took forever!" Cynthia says to Andrea, deciding to pretend I'm not there.

"Yeah, sorry."

"So... what is_ he_ doing here?" Cynthia asks, not even bothering to whisper. She "subtly" gestures to me.

I consider telling her that I'm right here, with all five senses. I decide against it. "Nico's here as... moral support."

"For me or you?"

Andrea hesitates. "You."

"How in the world will Nick serve as _my _moral support?" Okay, here I agree. First, you have to realize I'm not good at moral support by _itself_. Naturally, I'm not going to be good at it when I have to reassure a girl who hates me, with the help of another girl, who, "coincidentally," _also_ hates me.

My thoughts are disrupted by the screaming of the word "unicorn" twice. I turn around, but Cynthia and Andrea don't. It was the little girl that was part of the family sitting next to us.

"Cynthia, listen. Nico's not here right now." Gee, thanks. We should've gone with my pop-up idea... "See, look. Pah!" She sprinkles invisble magic fairy dust around me. "He's gone!"

"Andrea?" Cynthia asks, sounding a little worried.

"Okay, look, you know how you're adopted?" Andrea asks, the fake cheerful tone she had before gone.

"Why?"

"Do you know who the Greek gods are?" she asks, not answering Cynthia's question.

"No."

Ignoring Cynthia's response, Andrea says, "Well, one of them is your parent."

Cynthia is silent. I wait for the _What the heck?, _the _Are you crazy?_, or at _least _a gasp. "Oh, well, Andrea, could you go get me a... milk jug? Chocolate?" But apparently she and Andrea suck at reactions.

"That's it?" Andrea asks. "You don't have any questions or anything?"

"I really want chocolate milk right now," Cynthia says. She reaches into her pocket and takes out a five-dollar bill. She hands it to Andrea. "Here."

Andrea hesitantly takes it and leaves. The minute she's out of earshot, Cynthia says "Idiot!" loudly.

The parents of the family sitting next to us glare because we said an oh-so-inappropriate word.

"What did I do?" I ask, sounding a little whiny. But I deserve to be whiny, when you think about my suckish life.

"You told her! Everything! The Greek gods, even about me being a demigod!" she says.

"You knew you were a demigod? Before she told you?" I ask. "Are you lying?"

"Yes, Nico, obviously I'm lying," she says sarcastically. "It's not like it's _impossible_ for me to lie about knowing something."

It takes a while for her comment to sink in. After a decent amount of time, I say, "What's your problem? It's not like knowing will kill her."

Cynthia scowls. "Leave her alone, Nico di Angelo. I've heard rumors about you," Cynthia says.

"Oh, and rumors are suddenly the most trustworthy things in the world?" I ask. The family next to us start to watch because we're talking a bit too loudly.

"Here, Cynthia," Andrea interrupts, putting down a chocolate milk jug.

"Thanks. Listen, Andrea, how did you meet Nico?" she asks.

Oh, gods. "When he stood up in Mr. Ross's class and said that he liked making friends."

"No, when did you meet him? Like, talk to him?" Cynthia asks.

"Well, Nico lost his wallet."

"And you gave it to him, which ultimately led to him telling you a _very _believable story about Greek myths."

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Guess." She shrugs. "But Andrea, do you know who Nico di Angelo is?" Geez, Cynthia. Would it hurt so much to just shut up?

"Yeah. Friendless wannabe emo."

"Do you know who his father is?" Okay, is she _seriously _doing this? Why is she ripping on my dad?

"Does it matter? Losers are losers."

"His father is Hades," Cynthia says. Andrea sits there with a blank look on her face. "God of the Dead." Yeah, she's ripping on my dad.

"Does it matter?" Andrea repeats. "Losers are losers." Well, at least Andrea isn't prejudiced. I really thought she'd be prejudiced, though. I mean, she hates me. What's one more reason?

"So you shouldn't hang out with him," Cynthia says.

Andrea laughs. _Laughs._ "Did you think that because he told me about the Greek gods I would suddenly become obsessed with him? I would _be his friend_? I'm not crazy! He's a _loser_!" At least she isn't prejudiced. I'll just remember that.

"Excuse me?" I ask, finally saying something.

"Nico, I insulted you several times during the conversation and that was the only time you reacted," Andrea states.

I sigh. "I realized."

"So, can we leave now?" Cynthia asks.

"Yeah." They leave without a word.

"Bye," I say, even though they're long gone.

* * *

And that's the chapter. Hope you had fun!

By the way, studies show that if you review stories, your life span is increased by a half hour! (Not really.)

Remember, the Earth is a fun place to be!


	5. A Visit From Someone Special

Hey there, readers!

Sorry this chapter took so long. I had it done two weeks ago, but my beta decided not to reply for two weeks.

She _did_ reply, though. Five minutes after I put this up.

Yeah, life _isn't_ fail. Totally.

* * *

"Good morning, class," says Mr. Rogers, like he does every single day.

"Morning," a few people respond.

Then he moves on to teaching, which I try to pay attention to, then stop trying. I can copy Jerry's notes later, anyway.

Teach, teach, teach. Blah, blah, blah. Why isn't the day over yet?

The door opens and someone walks in. I look up and see a glimpse of a woman, then lose interest. "Are you Mrs. Rosa?" Mr. Rogers asks. After a silence, (I think she nodded. I didn't look up.) Mr. Rogers says, "Class, this is Mrs. Rosa. Act like she isn't here." Aside to Mrs. Rosa, he says, "Have a seat in the back."

Ten minutes later, I hear Mr. Rodgers say Andrea's name in a sharp voice. I look up, because Andrea never gets in trouble. It's like a cat barking. "Andrea, who was John Wilkes Booth?"

I look to Andrea. She's looking down and staying silent, biting her bottom lip.

"He killed Abraham Lincoln at…" He looks around then answers his own question. "Ford's Theatre. Andrea, stop staring at Mrs. Rosa and pay attention."

Andrea was staring at Mrs. Rosa? That's… strange, to say the least. She has no reason to stare at... anyone, really.

"Nico," I hear, and then I look up. "Who succeeded Abraham Lincoln as president?"

I don't know the answer, so I shrug and smile unsurely, which Mr. Rogers sighs at.

"Andrew Johnston, who was Vice President, succeeded Lincoln. I just said that. Pay attention."

* * *

After forever, the bell rings and I leave. "Hey, Nico," Jerry greets me.

He's wearing plaid, with his shirt tucked into his jeans, and he looks like a lumberman. I'd tell him that now if I felt like it. But I don't, and so I won't.

Jerry's a little shorter than me. Well, everyone's kind of shorter than me, since I grew like crazy last year. I don't know why. Maybe because I increased my milk intake. But anyway, I'm getting off-topic.

"Hi, Jerry. Hey, could I borrow your notes for Social Studies?"

I've realized that when I hang out with Jerry, I'm more friendly than usual. Way more friendly.

Well, actually, my Aunt Allison realized it and then pointed it out to me. It's the reason she likes Jerry. But I digress.

I don't know why I change. Instincts, I guess. Be nice around people that don't suck.

Jerry smiles. "Yeah, I kind of realized you weren't paying attention."

"So, can I?"

"Sure, man. Anything for the poor guy with no friends."

I roll my eyes. "I have friends," I say. "You're my friend."

"And who else?" he asks. He glances at the clock. "I'll give you the notes later. Class is going to start in a few minutes."

"Sure," I say.

"Where you going next?" Jerry asks.

"Uh-"

I'm interrupted by a voice behind me. "Hi, Jerry. Listen, could I talk to Nico alone? It's kind of important."

Is that Andrea's voice? Is that her talking to me (and Jerry) willingly?

No, I probably just imagined it. Why I'm imagining Andrea's voice I have no idea.

"Sure, Andrea," Jerry says, then winks at me and leaves.

I turn around and sure as Hades Andrea is there. Fantastic.

Andrea is dressed in a yellow polo, blue jeans, and sneakers. Her hair is back in a ponytail, and her bangs fall a little over her dark brown eyes. She's shorter than me. Like I said before, almost everyone is shorter than me.

"I swear that kid is the epitome of boy," she mumbles, watching Jerry walk away. Then she asks me, "Nico, did you see Mrs. Rosa?" No friendly "hello".

What? "What do you mean by 'see'?" I ask.

"By 'see', I mean, 'did you look at her?'" she replies.

"Yeah, I looked at her," I say. "Why?"

"Did you notice she's a _goddess_?" she asks.

"What do you mean?" I ask. "She's pretty?"

Andrea scowls. "I _mean_ she's a _goddess_. No metaphor."

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Did you even _look_ at her?" she asks, irritated.

"Yeah," I say.

"For what, half a second?" she asks. I have to admit that's true. "She's a goddess. I think she's the goddess of plants or something."

"Why would Demeter come here?" I ask.

"I don't know! All I know is that she's a god. She was sort of glowing." Yeah, that's a god, all right.

"Andrea, I'm going to leave. I have to look for her," I say. "Go to class."

"Why do you have to look for her?" Andrea asks. "It might have nothing to do with you."

I let out a sarcastic kind of laugh. "Yeah, I _wish_. When a god comes to a public school, it's not normal," I say. "Go to class."

"What if she came for Cynthia?" Andrea asks.

"Yeah, right. Look, I'm more important than Cynthia, so-"

"So that automatically means she came for you?" Andrea asks, skeptical.

"I'm leaving; go to class," I tell her. "The bell rang ten minutes ago. You're late."

Andrea falls silent. Then she says, "Well, I was wondering... Could I come?"

"Why?" I ask.

"Because I want to speak to a goddess," she says. "It'd be really cool. You know, talking to a goddess."

I look at her. For once, she looks a little disappointed. Well… Maybe…

"No. Go to class," I say.

She sighs. Then she opens her mouth and says, "You know I can just follow you, right?"

"Why'd you ask, then?" She opens her mouth, but I interrupt her. "Fine. Come on, we have to find Demeter."

As we look for Demeter through the windows in the doors, I ask Andrea, "Why'd you tell _me _you saw Demeter instead of Cynthia? I mean, you brought her up and everything."

"Cynthia has a dentist appointment today; she's not in. Why?"

"Just wondering," I answer.

* * *

Finally, after looking through several door-windows and narrowly avoiding the hall monitor more than once, I spot Mrs. Rosa. The Mist makes it hard to look at her, but when I force myself to, I realize something.

"Andrea, you idiot!" I whisper furiously. I have to stop myself from slapping her. "That's Persephone, not Demeter!"

"Who's Persephone?" Andrea asks.

"Persephone, the goddess of _flowers_, is my _mother_, Andrea," I say. Andrea starts to say something, but I cut her off. "_Step_-mother," I correct. "That's important."

"Why is she here?" Andrea asks.

"Like I know. C'mon, we have to go in," I tell her. I knock on the door.

The student sitting closest to the door opens it for me. "Hmm?" Ms. Upton says.

"Umm…" I begin.

Andrea cuts in. "Mr. Duval has to talk to Mrs. Rosa," she says.

"Yeah," I say.

Ms. Upton starts to say something, but Mrs. Rosa – Mother - interrupts. "Yes, I'll come," she says, even though we asked her nothing.

We leave the door open for her and wait outside the classroom. Mother comes out quickly.

"Nico!" she says. She doesn't hug me or show me any endearment in any way, but it's not expected. "You need to- Who is that?" She noticed Andrea, I see. "She's mortal, is she not?" Persephone says, trying to whisper so Andrea won't hear.

"Oh, yeah, I'm mortal," Andrea says, too casually. "Andrea Collins, no godly blood in her at all. So, are you really a god, or are you just wearing lots of flowers and light-emitters? Because I'm not too sure about this Greek mythology stuff."

Mother flicks my forehead. "What reason did you have to tell her?" she asks.

"Ow!" I say, then compose myself. "She was going to turn me in to the police, _Mother_. I couldn't do anything else. She can see through the Mist, you know."

"She had suspicions about Greek 'mythology', then?" Mother asks.

"Umm… Not about Greek mythology," I say, trying to be vague.

Mother seems a bit interested by this. "About what, then?"

I cringe. "About… witches…"

"I see."

"Hey, so are you really a god? Because you're really pretty, and maybe that has to do with godliness, and you're all flowerful, and Nico said you were the goddess of flowers? You're really pretty."

I guess Mother would seem pretty if she wasn't, you know, my mother. She's taller than me. (She probably wouldn't like it if her own son was taller than her, no matter how biologically unrelated we were.) She's wearing a white dress with flowers at the waist and has a flower headband. Her hair is down and she's wearing shoes with flowers on the side.

To use Andrea's word: "flowerful."

"Child, I am a goddess, the goddess of flowers. In fact, I am Nico's stepmother, so would you mind giving us some time alone?"

Andrea sort of frowns. Then she looks down at the ground shyly (Who knew _that_ was possible?) and asks,"I was just thinking… Maybe I could hang around for a while?"

"Child," Mother starts. She should stop calling Andrea "child." It's annoying.

She looks at Andrea's face. It's sad. Mother's expression softens. "Very well." Oh, look at my mother, nice to everyone but her stepson. I'm _so_ loved.

I sigh. "Why are you here, _Mom_?" I call her "Mom" to bug her; she doesn't being called anything that sounds more than somewhat endearing if _I'm_ calling her it.

She glares at me. "Well, I must send you on a-" She abruptly pauses. "I suppose I should call it a quest."

"Why do you 'suppose'?" I ask. "And do you even have the authority to give me a quest? Shouldn't Chiron or somebody do it?"

"Nico, I am a _goddess_, and more than that, I am your stepmother. I believe that gives me more authority than a centaur working at a summer camp."

"Wait, what's a centaur?" Andrea asks.

I turn to her. "Stay out of this. Feel free to eavesdrop – my mother gave you that right - but don't interrupt."

"Fine, Mr. Overreaction."

I ignore her and turn back to Mother. "Sure, but don't I need a prophecy?" I ask.

"_Don't_ you need to know what the quest is?" Mother asks, mimicking my tone.

I raise my white flag. "Point taken."

"A few years ago, I met someone. I was feeling a bit out-of-sorts; Hades and I had had a bit of an argument, and this man was a breath of fresh air. He was a nice man, a wonderful man. He was a gardener, and could grow the most _beautiful_ flowers. He was handsome, caring…" She pauses. "Unfortunately, we took things a little too far…

"Of course, although I am not a goddess of virginity, I began to feel guilt," Mother says. "I had borne a child. Eleven years ago, I had an illegitimate child."

"So you're a hypocrite," I say. "You get mad at Hades, mistreat me, and you _have_ a kid."

"You misunderstand," she says. "You see-"

"Oh, I think I see. You. Are. A hypocrite," I say.

This is completely unfair. _Totally_ and _completely_ unfair. I mean-

"Nico," I hear Andrea say. "Let her finish."

"Okay, Andrea, shut _up_!" I say. "You-"

"Nico! Compose yourself! Never talk to a woman that way!" Mother reprimands.

I think about it. I mean, I probably s_hould _compose myself. But it's unfair, the way she treats me.

But what I'm having right now is called a mental breakdown.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry, Andrea." I don't know why I apologized to Andrea. Probably because of Mother. "So, Mother, what's the point? How does you having a kid become a quest?"

"You see, Nico, I had him eleven years ago. And in two years, he will become thirteen. And by then, I must claim him."

"Wonderful. How is that a quest?"

"If you stopped interrupting me, Nico, maybe you wouldn't need to ask questions," Mother points out. "Now, your quest is to find him."

"'Find'? You mean you don't know where he is?" I ask.

"Well, yes, Nico," Mother replies.

"Why?"

"After I had him, I gave him to his father: Charles Hart. I didn't wish to think of him anymore; the past is the past.

"But then Percy Jackson went and made the gods make that oath. I don't want to anger Zeus; I must find him and claim him."

"Oh, sure," I say. "That's a _great_ reason. You know, way better than _loving_ him or anything."

Mother detects the sarcasm; being a horrible stepmother has nothing with IQ. "As if _you_ have the right to speak of _love_," she snaps. "And why would I love a child I have never met?"

That's terrible mothering. First of all, referring to your _son_ as "a child"?

Terrible mothering right there.

_But_… As terrible a mother that Mother is, she is still a god. And as minor a god she is, she can still turn me into a dandelion.

I should stop pushing it.

"Hey, Nico," I hear Andrea say. "You're in a daze. Snap out of it."

"I'm not 'in a daze', Andrea," I say. "And if I was, I wouldn't need you to snap me out of it."

"Jerk," she mutters while I turn to my Mother, who is making the smallest smile.

"Mother," I begin, "Charles, the father, you don't even remember where you last saw him?"

"Hmm…" She thinks. "Florida, I think it was. He may be there, but there is a greater chance he is not. It might remind him too much of me." She pauses, and no one says anything for a while. "He thinks I am dead," Mother announces. "That will most likely be very important."

"Well," Andrea says. "Florida. That's… clever, actually. The land of flowers. Florida."

_Yeah_, I think, _clever for_ her_._ "You know, Juan named it for me. Mother sent him a sign."

"I thought he named it that because he saw a lot of _flowers_," I butt in.

Mother grimaces. "Partially. But Mother was the largest reason."

No one says anything for a while. "Well, will you still need help with your quest?" Mother asks.

"A quest needs quest members, Mother. It can't just be me," I tell her.

"Yes. I've already notified Cynthia Evans. She _is_ the other demigod at your school, correct?" She doesn't wait for me to say anything. "And you can bring your friend. Annie, was it?"

Andrea shakes her head. "Andrea," she corrects.

"Oh, Andrea," Mother says. "Three is just enough. It _is _a godly number." She makes three flowers grow from the floor of the school hallway, picks them, and hands them to me. "Crush these when you're ready for the quest. They will take you straight to Florida.

"Remember, I _will_ be watching you," Mother says as she disappears.

The bell rings as if on cue.

* * *

Oh my Paul McCartney! Did you see that, too?

I think it's called a "plot". A rare species, that one.

Anyway, I finally found a plot! (If you haven't realized that, you're either blind, dumb, or illiterate. :P)

The plot may be clichéd, but at least it's not _clichéd_ clichéd. I mean, it's a guy. And flower power isn't that awesome, no matter _how_ rhyme-y or girl slogan-y it is.

And I'm not making excuses right now.

kthxbai


	6. Those Two Unnecessary Girls

Oh my goshness!

Is it - No, it can't be- But wait- It's a new chapter. (Gasp!)

This is a boring chapter, but it's long(er than usual), so that's wonderful, right?

Not that anyone cares. :(

* * *

Lunch: It's better than learning. Most of the time.

Right now it's suckish. I'm sitting here, all alone, waiting for my one and only friend to come around.

_Jerry is usually here by now, _I think. _Maybe I'm a clingy friend. That's so weird - _Guys_ being clingy friends? If it were a girl, I mean, well - Stop thinking like that, Nico. You are definitely straight. You are _thirteen_, no need for a crisis._

Trying to think of other things, I look around. Our cafeteria looks like a normal cafeteria (Go figure.); there are long tables and bench-like seats bolted to the ground, and there's a long line of kids waiting to get their lunch by the kitchen. (That's why I bring lunch; even though the food is half-decent, I hate getting in line.) The floor is tiled with some kind of gray rock, and the tiles are so close together that you can barely see the lines separating them. The walls are painted white, and they're mostly bare, except for a few posters put up by clubs and teams that need members.

I notice Jerry coming toward me, swinging his geeky SpongeBob lunchbox as he walks. He's always happy. I guess that's why he watches _SpongeBob_.

"Hey, how's Andrea?" he asks teasingly, sitting down and taking out his ham and cheese sandwich. His mom uses some weird kind of ham, so it smells weird. Not that I go around sniffing ham.

"Like I care," I reply. I'd tell him _Andrea_ was the one who kept talking to me, but he'd laugh. He's annoying that way.

"But you _know_," Jerry says with a smirk. He's the kind of person who's so happy that it can be annoying. "You talked to her for a whole period. Skipping class, huh?"

"I didn't _want_ to," I try.

"Yeah, I _hate_ those girls that tie you up and force you to talk to them." And he replies the way I knew he would.

"Oh, shut up, Jerry," I tell him. "Do you have your notebook?"

"'_Shut up_'? I am offended," Jerry says with fake drama, and then reaches into his lunchbox and takes out his notebook. "Here."

"Why's it in your lunchbox?" I ask.

"Because you wanted it," he says, as if keeping books in lunchboxes was completely normal.

"Sure," I answer, deciding to drop the subject.

I take my notebook from the seat next to me and open it. I open Jerry's and start copying words down, aware that I'm misspelling more than half the words and misinterpreting more than a few of them.

As I copy, I hear Jerry say, "Your girlfriend's coming. Hey, Andrea!" he yells, waving.

"Gross. Don't call Andrea my_ girlfriend_," I tell him, the comment not sinking in.

"As you wish," he says. "Hi, Andrea. Need me to leave? I'm gone." I look up from my notebook and notice that Jerry left and Andrea is in his place.

"Why are _you_ here?" I ask, going back to copying notes. It's more fun than talking to Andrea, anyway.

"Oh, gee, I don't know. Maybe because I've been issued a quest with you by a Greek god. Oh, no, that's probably not the case," she says sarcastically. "Your mom is awesome, by the way."

Andrea's not carrying anything with her, except for a flower in her pocket. She probably finished lunch, and then decided she should come interrupt my perfectly fine lunch hour, the jerk.

"Can we do this after school? I'm kind of busy," I tell her.

She rolls her eyes. "No, I can talk to you while you're copying words down," she says, as if _I _were the one bothering _her_. "It's no trouble."

"Fine," I say. _Make everything about yourself._ "What do we need to talk about?"

"Well, I found _this_ in my locker," Andrea says, holding up the yellow daisy she had in her pocket. It's a vibrant yellow flower, and it practically emanates health.

"And you think it's from me? Gross," I respond. If she really thinks it's from me, she needs to leave Andrea Land (Population: 1) and come back down to Earth.

"I _don't_ think it's from you." Well, it's a good thing she's feeling sane today. Of course, that puts Andrea Land's population back down to zero, but no one really liked it anyway. "I think it's from your _mother_. Why did she put it in my locker? Is it a bad omen or something?"

"I was a dandelion once. Just be glad she didn't _turn_ you into a daisy," I tell her, deliberately not answering her dumb question.

"Is it a bad omen?" she repeats.

Idiot. "I think she likes you, Andrea. It's a _yellow daisy_. How could that be a bad omen?" I ask. "Use your head." If only it wasn't made of wood.

"Oh. Well, I have to ask you something else," she says.

"The sooner you leave, the sooner you're gone," I tell her for no reason. Even if I say "no," she's going to ask it anyway.

"That was redundant," she points out.

"Touché," I shoot back.

"Anyway, do I really have to go on the quest?" she asks. "I mean, I have a life."

"You have to go," I tell her. "Mother will be 'watching' us, remember?" Apparently Mother senses the sarcasm, because the yellow daisy Andrea had immediately dies.

"_Thanks_, Nico. I was going to give to my mom," she complains. "By the way, your mother _is_ watching us, and I don't think she approves of your attitude."

"A flower's a dollar at the florist. Just go buy one," I tell her, ignoring her last comment.

"Maybe I don't have a dollar because a certain whiny, accusing _jerk _took my dollar," she replies.

"Geez, Andrea. That was _weeks_ ago. Forgive and forget," I tell her. "And you _gave_ me the dollar. It would've been rude not to accept it."

Andrea scoffs. "I don't think you were that thinking of manners at the moment, Mr. I-am-missing-a-dollar-give-it-back-you-dirty-thief."

I close my regular black composition notebook and Jerry's orange one, and then I put my pen back in my pocket. I decide I have to choose between copying notes and talking to Andrea (It's hard enough for me to focus on _one_ thing.), and although I would definitely choose the former over the latter, I can't stop the latter, so I have to end the former.

Then I remember that Andrea just insulted me, and I should probably respond.

"I never called you a dirty thief!" I reply.

"But you implied it," she says. "And you owe me a flower."

I roll my eyes. "Uh, Andrea? I'm the son of _Hades_, not Persephone. Just because I call her 'Mother' doesn't mean she's really my mom. I can't make flowers appear from thin air, genius."

"I _know_ you can't make flowers appear magically. But you know what you _can_ do?" she asks rhetorically.

"Yeah," I respond. "A lot of things, like hating you, and hating everything yo-"

Andrea isn't fazed. "Yeah, you seem to be getting it," she says with fake enthusiasm. "Good job, Nico." She pats my head, like I'm a dog (which is awkward since I'm taller than her), and continues, "You can also go buy me a flower! Surprising, isn't it?"

"Techni-" The bell rings, not on cue this time.

"See you after school," Andrea says, obligating me to meet her after school. "By the way, you can keep the dead flower."

* * *

Is Andrea going to meet me or not?

I think about it. Probably not, but seriously, that's fine with me.

Kind of boring, though. Jerry went to see a movie with some of his friends, because, like I said, he has friends who aren't me. I'm just, like, his super-best-awesome friend.

Yeah, totally. (Note the sarcasm.)

He invited me, but I said no because I can't focus that well. It's my ADD (or ADHD, if you're picky); no matter how large the screen is, I can't focus.

Unfortunately, that leaves me at the park at 4:30, with time to kill.

The park has little children, like always. They run around and try not to look at me, because I'm a creature from their nightmares, duh.

I finished doing my homework a few minutes ago, and now I'm pondering over what to do.

Funny, after thinking about it long enough, I realize I'm almost wishing that Andrea would appear.

"Nico," I hear.

I take that last comment back.

"Finally decided to appear, Andrea?" I ask. "Took you long enough."

"Yeah, I'm totally Andrea. That's exactly why I'm half a foot taller than her."

I turn around. Her hair is curly black, and her eyes are dark brown. She's sort of tall, her skin is tan, and she's insanely – disgustingly - beautiful. She's wearing a yellow shirt with a teddy bear head on it, and she's wearing a pink skirt. She's the same height as me. "Cynthia?" I ask.

"Duh," she replies.

Okay, I'll admit it: I was dumb to think that was Andrea. I was just anticipating Andrea, I guess. Cynthia doesn't sound like Andrea at all, though.

"Don't you have a dentist appointment?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes and sighs. "And that took me seven hours, right?"

"So you had a dentist appointment, and then you took the rest of the day off?" I ask. "Is that legal?"

"I came late and left early. Andrea didn't see me; that's why she thought I was absent. Someone told her I had a dentist's appointment; that's why she knew. Now, come with me."

"Where are you going?" I ask. I'm not a blind goat; I'm not going to follow just anyone anywhere.

Cynthia mutters something under her breath. She is _definitely_ annoyed. "We're going to meet Andrea at her house."

Uh, no. "I don't want to go to her house," I say.

"We _didn't want_ to be stuck with you," she says. "But look what happened to that. Now get up and follow."

"Uh, no," I reply. "And _you_ weren't stuck with _me_;_ I_ was stuck with _you_."

Cynthia rolls her eyes. "What a difference," she says mockingly. "And anyway, Andrea's house isn't some kind of evil torture center. There's no reason to be a scared little girl."

I stand up. "Excuse me?" I ask.

"There's no rea-"

"I'm not a scared little girl, Cynthia," I interrupt.

She sighs, irritated. "Of course you're not. Now just _come _with me, Nico. Her parents aren't going to interrogate you or anything."

I raise my eyebrows. "They won't? Why?"

That's not the reason I don't want to go; I just don't want to go to Andrea's house. But you have to admit that _that_ was a curious comment. I mean, what kind of parent doesn't interrogate the emo child that just walked in the house, claiming to be his/her daughter's friend?

A very strange one, that's what.

Cynthia hesitates. "They're not home, but that's beside the point."

"And the point is…?" I ask.

"There's nothing to be scared of," she replies, yawning.

"I'm not scared. I just don't _want_ to go," I retort oh-so-wittily.

"I don't _want_ to go on the quest," she retorts, less wittily. A flower dies in the corner. "You can't always get what you want, Nico."

"Says who?" I reply.

"_Gee_, I don't know. Me. The Rolling Stones. Ugh, just come with me." Cynthia sighs and adds, "Please?"

* * *

Andrea's room is mostly normal: a messy desk sits in the corner next to the closet, her bed is in a corner, covered with a plain, bright pink comforter, and a mirror is leaning on the wall. Her floor is covered with a magenta rug, and her wall is painted red, the bright color being interrupted by a poster of waterfalls above her bed. A night table is next to her bed, carrying a book and a lamp.

Right now, me, Andrea, and Cynthia are planning the quest.

"So if we're going to go on this 'quest,' we'll need money, right?" Andrea asks.

"No," (me) and "Yeah," (Cynthia) is what Andrea gets in response.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Cynthia asks. "Of course we're going to need money. First of all, there's the cost of the trip there. Second of all, we need food to live. And third of all, there might be an emergency."

"Okay, first of all," I begin, mocking her, "Mother gave us flowers that take us… somewhere." I think about it. "Probably Florida. I don't know where in Florida. Somewhere. Second of all, there's a fun little thing called the Mist. And third of all, define emergencies."

"Can I see the flowers?" Cynthia asks. I point to my pocket. "Anyway, using the Mist to buy things is illegal. And as in emergencies, I mean emergencies. Plus we're going to need drachmas, won't we? _Emergencies_, right?"

"Wait," Andrea says. "What's the Mist, and what are drachmas?"

"The Mist is the reason that the Olympians are 'just a myth,'" I explain. "Drachmas are Greek currency."

"The Mist doesn't work so well, does it?" Andrea asks.

I hesitate. Before I can say something, Cynthia cuts me off. "You're an exception, Andrea."

"Why?" she asks.

I shrug. Cynthia answers, "No one knows. Luck, I guess."

"Oh, I feel _so_ lucky right now," she says with a joking sarcastic tone. No one laughs. "So... about the money… What are we going to do?"

Suddenly, out of the wall, five "flowers" (where the flower should be is a $100 dollar bill) grow out. I have no idea if this money-out-of-the-wall thing is legal, but I'm going to assume the money isn't fake.

If it _is_ fake, it's hard to tell. Of course, I'm a dyslexic twelve year-old boy and the money I usually handle is drachmas, but Mother wouldn't give us anything that would land us in jail, right?

Right?

* * *

Cynthia snaps. "Andrea is going on a more-than-one-day school trip, and she hasn't specified how long it's going to be, but you don't care because of… certain… reasons."

"So convincing," I mutter. Andrea tells me to shut up because I'm going to "break the trance." Sure.

"No matter what her siblings -"

"Steven and Leanne," Andrea supplies.

"When people ask where Andrea is, you reply, 'She is vacationing in Canada.' When asked a reason, you say, 'She is attending her great-great-great grandmother's funeral.' If asked any more questions, you respond, 'No.'

"The trip will be out-of-state -"

"Do schools even do that?" I ask Andrea, who shushes me again,

"- leave tomorrow morning at school. You will let Andrea walk to school, because that is completely normal.

"The kid wearing black has been Andrea's friend for a long time, and you know that even though his taste in clothing is not normal for an eighth-grader, he isn't very intelligent, and he's overly sarcastic, he is a nice, somewhat decent person deep inside."

_Was that an insult or a compliment? _I wonder.

Cynthia snaps again, ending the trance. "Oh, hello, Cynthia and… That's funny," Andrea's mom says as Andrea's dad leaves without a word. "I can't seem to remember your name."

Cynthia's eyes widen in realization that she forgot to say my name. But I can handle it. I fake a laugh. "That's funny, considering how long I've known you, Mrs. …"

"Collins," I hear Andrea whisper.

"…Collins," I say, hoping Andrea's mom doesn't notice the silence or Andrea's whisper. "My name's Nico. Nico di Angelo, remember?"

"Oh, yes, I do remember," Andrea's mom says. "Well, it's nice to see you're not being as sarcastic as usual today. But I didn't know you would come today. You should tell me next time they come, Andrea."

* * *

"Hi, Nico," Aunt Allison says. "How was school?"

"Hi," I reply and then snap. "I have a free out-of-state school trip tomorrow and I don't know how long it is but it's more than one day. You don't care that I don't know how long it is, and I'll come back eventually."

* * *

Wearing my backpack, I walk to the park, the meeting place. Andrea is already there, wearing jogging pants and a yellow hoodie. "You have everything, right?"

Andrea rolls her eyes. "I'm not dumb, Nico," she replies. "Do you have the flowers?"

"I'm not dumb, Andrea," I mimic.

She rolls her eyes again. "Ha ha," she says sarcastically. She looks around. "Look, there's Cynthia. Hey, Cindy!"

Cynthia waves back, and her walking speeds up. When she reaches us, she says, "I've got the drachmas I have left over from summer." I nod.

"So, you're ready to go?" I ask.

"Wait, you have the money, right?" Andrea asks.

I nod. "Ready?" I ask.

"Yeah," Andrea says, and Cynthia does likewise.

I hand them the flowers. "Throw them on the floor and crush them with your feet," I instruct.

Cynthia goes immediately, but Andrea is hesitant. "This won't… uh… do anything to me because I'm mortal, right?"

I'm not sure, but I reply, "Persephone wouldn't have given those to us if they would kill you, Andrea. Now go."

Andrea breathes in and out, and then crushes the rose. She disappears.

I bring my foot down on the rose, and the world disappears with a flash of green light.

* * *

Did you LIKE it? HATE it? WANT more? (I can't help you on the last one.)

Tell me in a REVIEW!

Uh... but don't put, "I liked it,"or, "I hated it," or, "I want more."

WASTE even MORE of your time by putting in UNNECESSARY DETAILS!

Suggestions: "I deeply enjoyed this totally awesome, wonderful chapter," or "I hated this horrible chapter, go put your hands in a blender," (Suggestion no longer valid. I mean, for all you know, I could injure my hands with the blender and never be able to write again!) or, "I really want more."


	7. Author's Note: March 10, 2012

This story is over. It's abandoned. The plot was pretty pathetic, I had no idea where I was going with it, and the motivation is gone.

So... yeah. This is the sort of thing that happens when you try to rewrite a story that originated as Nico/OC after converting to die-hard shipping them with a canon character. Plus, Nico has more a of personality in the Heroes of Olympus series now, so he's not really open to interpretation anymore.

And then, add the fact that the title makes no sense anymore at all...

Still, Son of Neptune has re-sparked my interest in this fandom, so I'm still writing for it. I began an OctavianOC (because that's how I ROLL) a couple of weeks ago and the first chapter is up now (so please read it because it is sad and lonely wow this is pathetic).

It's been fun, but I guess my first story was never destined for an end, no matter how many times I tried to revamp it. Oh well.

See you?


End file.
